


Something Wicked

by neurotrophicfactors



Category: Persona 3, Persona 4
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Comedy, Horror, M/M, Minor Character Death, Slow Burn, Witchcraft, more characters tba - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-29 07:26:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12626100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neurotrophicfactors/pseuds/neurotrophicfactors
Summary: It starts with a haunting. Arisato Minato and Hamuko grew up learning how to read tarot cards and create sigils and instill their potions with intent. Together they own a shop called Innocent Sin, which doubles as a magic store and a consultant agency for all matters of the supernatural variety. But when a young man named Seta Souji approaches them to exorcise an angry spirit from his apartment building, the twins find themselves walking into a situation far more dire, and far more deadly than either of them could have anticipated.





	1. A Haunting

**Author's Note:**

> FINALLY!!!! I GET TO WRITE MY FAVOURITE GENRE!!! HORROR-COMEDY!!! I was asked to write a Halloween-themed story by [tigerlizii](http://tigerlizii.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. A huge thank you is in order for [joyejoyu](http://joyejoyu.tumblr.com//) who has been my sounding board for this story and gave me the idea for Aigis's role as well! She's an amazing human bean and her art is absolutely gorgeous, if you haven't seen it already! This story wouldn't be possible without either of you.

There are three types of people who come to Innocent Sin: there are the practitioners and dabblers who are looking to resupply their candles and herbs and runestones. Perhaps a new tarot deck or pendulum for the aspiring medium. There are the skeptics who come to gawk at the little shop and ask snide questions about the effectiveness of moon-blessed water if their friend is a virgin. And there are those in need—people who seek aid against the incomprehensible.

Okay, there are four types of people—there are also the confused souls who mistake Innocent Sin for an adult store. Hamuko insists that she chose the name as a reference to superstitions against magic, but Minato has his doubts. He gets the feeling she just thought it would be funny.

It is.

Minato rules out options two and four moments after the young man enters with a high tinkling sound, the bell over the door ringing with its motion. The skeptics are cocksure; they stride through the door with smirking mouths and grabby hands, taking items off of the shelves and laughing at what they see. The misfortunates are momentarily perplexed before they realize their error and make a swift, red-faced exit to avoid further embarrassment. The man in the store now—currently Innocent Sin’s only patron, this close to closing—looks confused, as the misfortunates would, but there is also wonder in his gaze. The bewilderment of someone who has stumbled into a strange new world rather than the wrong one.

The man examines the set of shelves next to the door, full of incense of all varieties and purposes: sticks and cones, little bundles of sage bound with twine. Their combined efforts have infused the store with a heady herbal scent that clings to Minato’s clothes long after he closes up shop at nine thirty in the evening. The man reads a few of the packages, then turns to inspect the table covered in boxes and bowls arranged with crystals, each different type neatly labeled with their moniker and symbolic function. The man is tall, awkward-looking in the cluttered space as he picks up a piece of orange calcite with a long-fingered hand. Beneath a charcoal jacket, he’s wearing a button-down shirt and a grey cardigan covered in cats.

 _A new practitioner then?_ Minato wonders. Keeping an eye on him, he surreptitiously draws the top card from the tarot deck near his right hand on the counter and turns it face up. The Moon. Suiting, Minato thinks as he eyes the man’s silver hair and irises, but does the card describe _him_ or his situation?

A black raven, previously content on its perch behind Minato, hops onto his shoulder and whispers in his ear, ‘ _Pretty_.’

“ _Shut up_ ,” Minato hisses under his breath. Ryoji always makes a point of telling him when he sees someone pretty, and Ryoji thinks that _everyone_ is pretty. Not that Minato disagrees in this case, but it certainly gets old. The raven begins preening his hair and Minato ignores him as he calls out to the customer, “Can I help you with something?”

The Moon fumbles the chunk of clear quartz he exchanged the calcite for moments ago and barely manages to catch it before his widened eyes meet Minato’s. Cute, but then he opens his mouth and says with a surprisingly soft voice, “Maybe...” His fingers curl around the quartz in his hand.

_And there are those in need—people who seek aid against the incomprehensible._

Minato rests his forearms on the counter and leans forward, letting his silence prompt the Moon to speak. Ryoji ceases in his ministrations to follow his lead, cocking his head in that eerie way that corvids do; predatory, but patient.  

The Moon frowns, gathering his thoughts as he glances between Minato and the raven. Slowly, he says, “My neighbour has been giving me some trouble lately.”

 _Or not?_ Minato stares at him. “You should probably be talking to your landlord before you move on to hexes.”

A flush rises to the Moon’s cheeks and silver eyes dart away before making a hasty return. “You don’t understand—my neighbour’s been dead for two weeks.”

 

 

As an academic, Morooka Kinshiro was well-respected for his public speaking skills and fastidious nature—both very useful qualities for a philosophical researcher to have. As a colleague and professor, however, he was a bastard. He was rude, loud-mouthed, and needlessly critical. He openly hated the teaching aspect of his employment at Tokyo University. He drank heavily in the evenings at bars as well as his apartment and was deeply hypocritical when it came to chivalry and feminist values. Scholar by day, drunkard by night. It came as a surprise to no one when he was murdered; in fact, the most difficult part of the police investigation thus far was finding someone _without_ a motive to kill Morooka Kinshiro.

The newspaper hadn’t said as much in as many words, but Minato knows how to read between the lines. The only reason the police don’t believe it was a random mugging is because the coroner found rohypnol in his system and his body was discovered behind the university library with a knife wound to the throat; stabbed, not slashed. Death by exsanguination. His wallet and personal belongings were left intact.

The second floor of Innocent Sin doubles as storage space and a single room apartment. The stairs open up on the west side of the room, facing north, and the southeastern corner next to the stairs is stacked high with boxes of jewelry, singing bowls, divining rods, cauldrons, and candles, and nearly everything else that can be found in the shop below. The mountain tapers off as it travels along the length of the banister, ending uncomfortably close to the top of the stairs. Traveling north along the eastern wall, there is a counter fitted with a sink and simple appliances such as a microwave, toaster, hotplate, and an electric kettle that’s currently plugged into a socket. The shelves above the counter are filled with instant ramen, tea, miscellaneous snacks, and dishes, while the rightmost drawer holds a full set of utensils. The north window houses an array of succulents that stand guard over the couch/pull-out bed beneath it and the western wall is occupied by a mini-fridge and an old CRT television on top of eight cinderblocks and a sturdy slat of wood. At the room’s epicenter is a low table and cushions on an embroidered rug.

Less noticeable aspects of Innocent Sin’s second floor apartment: the o-fuda pinned over the northern window, the incense holder full of ash that’s tucked among the succulents, and the protective sigils inscribed into the baseboards with rowan ash at each of the room’s cardinal points.

The Moon is currently seated on the couch with a mug of genmaicha warming his palms. It’s too hot to drink at the moment, but once in a while he still brings it to his mouth, testing his own boundaries as he eyes the raven on Minato’s shoulder warily. Minato pays little mind to him as he uses his zippo lighter to set fire to a bundle of sage. As soon as tiny flames begin to leap toward the ceiling, Minato blows them out so that the leaves only smoulder, white smoke curling into the air, and drops them into a copper bowl.

Ryoji leaves his shoulder as Minato brings the bowl to the stairs, descending them before climbing back up and moving from one corner of the room to the next systematically. At each point he pauses, letting the smoke saturate the space before he continues in his cycle. When he reaches the stairs again, Minato walks across the room to the silver-haired man, Ryoji now sitting on the couch two feet away from him. The Moon is staring at the bird like he expects a sudden attack and therefore doesn’t notice Minato until he starts blowing smoke into his face.

The Moon jolts with a shake of his head and blinks at him incredulously, looking unsure whether or not he should feel slighted. “What was that for?” he asks.

“Purification,” Minato says.

“Oh.” He glances at Ryoji. “Does he bite?”

“No,” Minato tells him as he sets the copper bowl on the table. “Ryoji likes everyone unless they’re an asshole. You can pet him, if you want.”

The Moon bites his lip as he meets the corvid’s unnatural blue eyes and then he tentatively reaches out with his hand to run gentle fingers over Ryoji’s back. Ryoji soaks up the attention, tilting his head to encourage the man to scritch along the side of his neck. The Moon makes a soft noise of disbelief, lips tugging into a small smile. _Pretty_ , Ryoji had called him.

He looks up at Minato and says softly, “Thank you for inviting me up here. My name is Seta Souji. Everything started two weeks ago, after—”

“Stop.”

Seta blinks. “What?”

Minato waves a hand. “The story can wait. I texted my sister on the way upstairs and I don’t want to have to listen to the same thing twice.”

“Oh…” Seta frowns, biting the inside of his lip, and looks around the room as curiosity keeps his mouth in motion. “So do you live up here?”

Minato snorts. “ _No_. I have a place with my sister. This is more like… a safe-house for people with, ah, _extenuating_ circumstances.”

He nods thoughtfully. “Like mine.”

“We’ll see.”

The Moon hums, now dedicating most of his focus to Ryoji. Now that the raven no longer poses a potential threat to him, he has warmed very quickly to the bird.

 _Spoiled brat_ , Minato thinks as Ryoji makes a pleased buzzing sound.

“So why did you name him Ryoji?” asks Seta.

“His real name is Thanatos,” Minato explains in a dry tone, “but we were already calling him Ryoji when he died—probably of natural causes—and got possessed by a spirit of death. The name stuck.”

Seta freezes with his hand over Ryoji’s neck and stares at Minato with a combination of awe and horror. “I can’t tell if you’re joking or not.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

Ryoji butts Seta’s hand impatiently and the man resumes stroking him, dropping Minato’s gaze. It occurs to Minato that he hasn’t introduced himself yet and he chews his lip, finding a dry piece of skin to tug at with his teeth. He wonders if Seta has noticed and thinks he’s being rude or if the large carrion bird in the room kept him preoccupied. Before he can force out the words, however, the bell over the door rings from below them and a feminine voice calls out.

“Minato, you forgot to flip the sign again!”

Minato turns to the stairwell with a wince and from the corner of his eye, Seta raises his head. The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs is heralded by a white raven flying over the banister and alighting on Minato’s shoulder with a flutter of her great wings, talons curling into the loops of his knitted sweater.

The raven tilts her head to regard him with beady blue eyes and then she nudges his jaw with her pale beak. ‘ _You called for us, Minato-san. Are you in danger?_ ’

Minato shakes his head and brings up a hand to scratch beneath her chin. Seta has gone still at the arrival of another bird, but before he has long to ponder it, a head of auburn hair is cresting over the top of the stairs.

“Mina-chan, can you take this box from me?”

Minato scowls at the childhood nickname and walks over to the landing. Reddish brown eyes glint at him mischievously as his sister transfers the cardboard box into his arms—Hamuko knows how much he hates being called that, especially in front of customers. Minato rolls his eyes and carries the box closer to the hellish pile he and Hamuko have dubbed Tartarus, placing it among a few other boxes labelled with ‘ _dried lavender_ ’ and ‘ _mugwort_ ’. Hamuko bounds across the room until she’s standing in front of Seta with a wide grin and Ryoji shrugs off his touch to perch on her shoulder.

‘ _Welcome back, my dearest,_ ’ Ryoji tells her. The white raven occupying Minato’s shoulder caws angrily.

Without looking away from Seta, Hamuko ruffles the feathers on Ryoji’s breast. “Hi!” she says. “You must be the customer Minato told me about. I’m Arisato Hamuko! I see you’ve already made friends with Ryoji; his sister’s name is Aigis.”

‘ _I have_ no _relation to him,_ ’ Aigis says coldly, puffing out her chest.

Seta glances at Minato and as silver eyes meet stormy blue, a moment of pure understanding passes between them: Seta noticed. Seta noticed and now he has a choice: he can expose Minato’s failure as a host or he can proceed as if they already traded introductions while awaiting Hamuko’s arrival rather than the stilted conversation that took place in etiquette’s stead.

Minato stares daggers at him. _Don’t tell her, don’t tell her, don’t tell her!_

“It’s nice to meet you, Arisato-san,” Seta says, tearing his eyes away from Minato’s to meet his sister’s smile. “My name is Seta Souji.”

Hamuko waves a hand dismissively. “Please just use my first name; it will get too confusing with my brother. Sorry I kept you waiting.”

“It’s fine,” Seta protests. “Thank you for listening to me.” He bends forward in a slight bow.

Hamuko’s eyes soften as Minato moves to stand next to her, keeping his free shoulder between them so that Aigis doesn’t begin to harry Ryoji. Though she can often be brash, Hamuko has never been able to resist genuine politeness. It brings out her calmer, more nurturing side; the difference between the flames in a hearth and a wildfire.

“I haven’t heard anything yet,” Hamuko says. “Why don’t you tell us your story?”

Seta bites his lip and looks down at the mug in his hands. “Okay.” He takes a slow breath and doesn’t raise his eyes. “I don’t know if you remember the news, but two weeks ago, a professor at Tokyo University was murdered—Morooka Kinshiro. We lived in the same apartment building as next-door neighbours. I, ah…” He flushes. “I was actually one of the first people the police questioned. I took one of his classes last year as an elective and I’ve helped him into his apartment a few times when he’s had too much to drink. He kind of has a reputation…”

His eyes flicker up to Minato and Hamuko, searching for skepticism as he continues. “The thing is… he hasn’t left. Sometimes I can hear him in his apartment through the walls and sometimes he catches me in the hallway and follows me into my apartment, and he says things to me.”

“What does he say?” Hamuko prompts.

Seta’s fingers tighten around his mug. “He says that I killed him. That I’m an ungrateful brat who got tired of living next to him and decided to end it all. That I’m selfish…” He looks between them beseechingly. “But I didn’t kill him, I swear! The police say that he was drugged and I was studying for a midterm that night; but he’s angry and he won’t listen! Please, you have to believe me!”

Minato turns to his sister and finds her burgundy eyes already waiting for him, unreadable to anyone who hasn’t known her for a lifetime. Ryoji tips his beak toward Hamuko’s ear and says for both of them to hear, ‘ _He’s telling the truth._ ’

Minato tells Seta, “I believe you.”

The Moon deflates with relief, his silver head bending low and catching the light like an incandescent halo. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know what to do.”

His knuckles have turned white around the body of the mug and Hamuko looks like she’s trying to resist the urge to touch him, her inner empath crying out to offer comfort. Minato watches them for a long moment before he sighs and reaches over to tap the back of Seta’s hand with one fingertip.

“Don’t break my mug.”

Seta flinches and jerks upright, nearly spilling the remaining tea, but it makes him loosen his grip and he brings it up to his mouth to finish the last few sips. There’s still something frantic about him, like a caged bird. Guilt that doesn’t belong to him, but clings to him nonetheless. Minato shakes his head and looks at Hamuko; she nods back at him with agreement.

“Seta-san, I’m going to read my tarot cards for you to gain some insight on your situation and my brother is going to make something to help you,” she says. “Is that okay?”

Seta nods slowly without meeting her eyes. “I’m sorry about earlier. I don’t usually get like that.”

Hamuko shakes her head. “Even in the wake of a violent death, it’s rare that hauntings become so severe so quickly, and it sounds like you’re especially sensitive. Most people in your type of situation make it about three days at most.”

Seta gives her a wan smile and Minato turns on his heel to walk toward the stairs. Behind him, he hears Hamuko draw the box of tarot cards from her satchel and instruct the Moon on how to shuffle them. Once Minato clears the landing, Aigis spreads her wings and swoops from his shoulder to the perch behind the counter, watching as he gathers the materials he needs from the main shop below. Fennel, hawthorn, and a little strip of birch bark. He holds them delicately in his hand as he plucks a drawstring pouch made of silk from a wooden jewelry box on the counter, and then tucks the dried plant matter into their floral-pattern prison. As an afterthought, Minato takes a small piece of hematite from the crystal display and drops it into the pouch as well. Finally, Minato pulls the drawstrings shut and wraps them around the neck of the pouch before tying them tightly a second time.

He stares without moving at the little bag in his hand. Blue silk with white flowers and navy drawstrings. Grey leaves and stems. The colours felt fitting for the Moon upstairs, but the talisman itself will do very little against a spirit with enough strength of will in the long run. A form of protection as feeble as a breakwater in a hurricane. It’s a temporary solution, something to tide the young man over until the spirit can be exorcised permanently. Minato sighs.

‘ _You feel it too,_ ’ says Aigis.

“Yeah.”

Minato leans against the counter and the ivory raven hops the short distance between the perch and his shoulder, nuzzling his head. He raises the pouch to his lips and closes his eyes as he exhales, breathing his intent into it. _Let it be enough_. He drops his hand to the countertop and leans into Aigis’s touch until he hears the creaking of the floorboards overhead.

Seta’s movements are fluid as he descends the stairs, but as his face comes into view, Minato can see the slight indent of a frown just below the ends of his bangs. Hamuko follows him with a Very Professional Smile and on her shoulder, Ryoji doesn’t move a muscle.

As Seta draws closer, Minato says, “Catch,” and tosses the pouch to him. The Moon catches it easily, turning it over in his hand curiously.

“What is it?”

“Think of it like an omamori with less prayer and more will,” Minato replies. “Keep it close; in your pocket, under your pillow—whatever.”

Seta nods, looking a little unsure, but he tucks it into his pocket. “Thank you. How much do I owe you all for this?”

“Nothing,” Hamuko says. “Don’t worry about it. We still have to exorcise the spirit anyway.”

“Oh. When can you do that?”

Hamuko glances at Minato, who shrugs. “I can come over on Sunday,” he says.

“Okay.”

Seta shuffles awkwardly, reluctant to leave the sanctuary of Innocent Sin but knowing that he must. Minato rolls his eyes and grabs the blue pen from the mug next to the till, then he strides over and takes the back of Seta’s hand. With his thumb and forefinger, Minato tugs back the sleeve of his cardigan and dress shirt, exposing the Moon’s pale wrist, and he draws an elaborate symbol on the soft inner skin. It looks like it may have been kanji once, but it has been twisted and combined with other characters to create a new one resembling a bird in flight. A raven.

Seta jerks his arm back as soon as Minato releases it and frowns down at the design. “What is this?”

“A protective sigil. You’re welcome.”

“Oh… Thank you.” He still looks uncertain, but he’s careful not to smudge it as he pulls his sleeves back over his wrist. “I’ll see you on Sunday then, Minato-san.”

Minato rocks a little on the balls of his feet, hands now tucked into his pockets. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Thank you for your reading, Hamuko-san. I am very grateful to both of you.” Seta bows to them formally. His posture is perfect, like it’s been trained into him a thousand times.

“Take care of yourself,” Hamuko tells him with a cheerful wave.

“Thanks! You too.” The bell rings as Seta steps through the door and leaves a muted shop behind, now occupied by two twins and two ravens. An ancient clock ticks from the wall behind the counter and four pairs of eyes stare at the door.

“You owe me five-hundred yen,” Hamuko says, breaking the silence. “After a death like that, I told you there would be a haunting.”

Minato ignores the quip. “What did you draw for him when you read your cards?”

She huffs a small, wry laugh. “Cutting straight to the chase, huh? The first card was the Ten of Swords.”

“Confirming what we already know: it was murder.”

“Next, the Moon.”

“There’s more to this than it seems. And the final card?”

Hamuko hesitates, fingers curling into a fist. “The Tower.”

Minato jerks his head to face her. “This isn’t the end of it.”

The clock chimes the hour and Ryoji leaps from Hamuko’s shoulder to fly in circles overhead. His caws sound like laughter.


	2. The Melancholy of Morooka Kinshiro

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First there's an exorcism, then a field investigation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up that this fic is earning its archive warning, starting with this chapter. Sorry it's been so long! I just got a new job and my social life has also picked up a bit due to some, ah, recent events :'> Hope you like it!!!

The air is brisk as Minato makes his way from the metro station to Seta’s apartment building in Kasuga, Bunkyo. Not quite cold enough that he can see his breath, but enough to justify his decision to wear a jacket—wool, because almost any other material would have been shredded by bird talons. Hamuko got Seta’s address the other night after reading his tarot cards and slipped the piece of paper to Minato this morning as he prepared to leave with Ryoji in tow. Before he departed, she drew two cards from her deck for Minato: the Moon and the Nine of Wands—the mystery will deepen before truths are revealed, but a final obstacle will make itself known. She made him promise to call her later with an update when more information comes to light.

For now, Minato follows the directions on his phone as they lead him to greener pastures—away from student housing and toward the neighbourhood that houses the district’s more permanent residents. Middle-class tenants and families who can afford to own property instead of renting. Minato can feel the economic divide like the piercing stares of passersby who eye the raven perched on top of his shabby backpack and the scuffed leather of his thrift store combat boots. He tries to reconcile his image of the young man wearing a cat cardigan with his new image of the son of rich parents. Seta seemed humble when he came to their shop for help a few days ago, but perhaps it was an act.

‘ _You’re thinking of the Moon, aren’t you?_ ’ says Ryoji. There’s laughter in his voice.

Minato mumbles, “We’re going to see him.”

‘ _That was a powerful spell bag you gave him—he didn’t need the sigil too._ ’

“Shut up.” It wasn’t the sigil’s protective energy that Seta needed but peace of mind. Two weeks of verbal abuse from a pissed off spirit had run him ragged; the sigil was a reassuring presence that provided the final push he needed to return home that night. That was why Minato had drawn it, and nothing more.

Minato stops in front of a four storey apartment building and squints at the address. Pulls the piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans and wrinkles his nose at Seta’s obnoxiously neat handwriting, then glances back at the metal digits bolted next to the door. Even the building looks posh: pristine, white outer tiles and large windows. Neatly lined balconies with black, wrought-iron railings. The walkway leading up to the front door is framed by meticulously maintained shrubs and the trees on either side of the parking lot entrance are caught in a gradient from vibrant green to firetruck red.

A heavy sigh trudges to the cliff-side of his throat and hurls itself over the edge with both middle fingers raised. Ryoji laughs at his exasperation.

‘ _It’s not so bad,_ ’ he comments.

Minato grunts and drags his feet as he walks up to the glass door and yanks it open. The entryway is blocked off from the foyer by a glass wall and a second locked inner door for additional security. Through the glass, Minato can see a potted ficus in one corner while the opposite corner is occupied by an obsidian sculpture of two angels in a flaming chariot. He wishes the weather had been poorer so that he could track mud over the polished, marble-tile floors; but of course, then it would be the janitorial staff who have to deal with it.

He finds Seta’s name on the wall panel with the apartment’s listed tenants and presses the buzzer next to his name. Counts for eight seconds and is about to press the buzzer again when Seta’s voice comes staticky over the speaker.

“Hello, this is Seta Souji.”

Minato presses down the button to speak. “It’s Arisato.”

“Right! Please come in; I’m on the third floor.”

A high note rings to signify that the inner door is unlocked and Minato swiftly makes his way into the foyer to escape it. He makes a beeline for the sleek elevator directly across from him and presses the call button. Thankfully, it’s deserted as he enters the enclosed space and thumbs the button for the third floor, granting him a moment’s peace during his ascension. The elevator is dimly lit and it smells faintly of leather and citrus cleaner. Seta is leaning against the wall opposite from him when the doors slide open again. He’s wearing a Totoro sweater.

Seta bows as Minato steps out of the elevator. He looks far more at ease today than he did when he came to Innocent Sin. “Thank you for coming.”

Minato shrugs and Ryoji makes a small croaking sound. Seta bites the inside of his lip as his eyes are drawn to the raven and Minato wonders if there’s a stipulation against pets in the building. Too bad for them. “How’s the spell bag?”

Seta reaches into the pocket of his slacks and presents the silk pouch Minato filled for him only a few days prior. “Good,” he replies.

“And the sigil?”

Seta touches his wrist instinctively before he hooks his fingers in the material to pull back his sleeve. The symbol Minato drew is slightly smudged, but it’s clear that Seta has taken great care to avoid it while bathing. Smart man.

“Any more trouble with your neighbour?” Minato asks.

“I can hear him thumping around in his apartment, but nothing direct,” Seta tells him.

Nodding to himself, Minato says, “Show me your place.”

Seta looks uncertain, but he quietly agrees and leads Minato to unit 301, stepping over the threshold first to hold the door open for his unusual guests. Minato’s first thought as he enters the apartment is that it doesn’t look like a university student’s abode. There isn’t a single stain on the cream-coloured carpet and the coffee table is clutter-free. The walls are white and bare and a sleek, flat-screen television is set up on a stand across from a black leather couch draped with a knitted throw blanket. The bookshelf next to the entertainment system is full of textbooks and novels alike, a few knick-knacks making the occasional appearance, and on the far side of the room is the screen door leading out onto the balcony. To the right is the kitchen and to the left is a hallway that must lead to the bathroom and bedroom. The layout is simple, but far more spacious than any student apartment has the right to be. A small family could live here comfortably. 

Minato rolls his shoulders and says wryly, “Mommy and Daddy arrange this for you?”

“Yeah.” And the way he says it makes Minato _look_ , because Seta doesn’t sound defensive or even affronted, but rather _resigned_ , and he doesn’t know entirely what to do with that.

Ryoji nudges the back of his head with his beak, as if to tell him to _get on with it_ , and Minato mutters, “Sorry for the intrusion,” as he removes his boots to promptly carry them over to the screen door. In the corner of his eye, Minato spies the first sign of colour in the apartment: stacks of brightly coloured squares of paper on the dining room table and dozens of origami cranes, each one folded impeccably. Minato tugs his boots back onto his feet and slides open the screen door as Seta trots after him with his own shoes in hand.

The balcony is sizeable, but crowded. Only one of the two porch chairs is usable, as the other one is currently home to a tray of propagating succulents. The small, glass-top table between them is similarly occupied by the parent plants and a few box planters have been stuffed full of herbs along the railing—fortunately, not the side between Seta’s balcony and his neighbour’s.

Minato turns to Seta, who is stepping out onto the balcony behind him. “You said Morooka-san lived next door to you, right?”

Seta frowns as he tips his head in wary assent. “Yes…?”

“Cool.”

Ryoji springs from Minato’s bag to flutter over to the neighbouring balcony and Minato braces one hand against the wall as he places his foot on the railing.

“What are you doing?” Alarm now colours Seta’s voice as he watches Minato perch with both feet on the narrow bar.

“Solving your ghost problem.” There are only a few short feet between Seta’s balcony and the late Morooka’s. Minato rolls forward with his weight and pushes off on the balls of his feet, crossing the gap and touching one foot to the neighbouring railing before letting his momentum carry him down to the paved platform. Ryoji hops onto his shoulder as Minato turns to the screen door, giving it an experimental tug—locked. It was worth a try.

Moments later, there’s a metallic tap succeeded by the sound of impact, and Minato is surprised to see Seta standing next to him.

“You didn’t have to follow me,” he says.

Seta’s eyes are wide, but he shrugs like he didn’t just leap across a three storey drop. “It’s fine.”

Minato studies him with a critical eye; his towering figure and broad shoulders, the bangs that fall just above his eyes and the handsome, but unassuming features beneath them. He’s braver than Minato gave him credit for—not at all the spoiled rich boy he anticipated upon his arrival at the bourgeois apartment building.

He blinks as he realizes that he and Seta have been staring at each other for a full minute now.

Minato spins back to the door, biting his lip, and kneels down to examine the door handle. Because it leads onto a balcony, there’s no keyhole on the outside; there would have been no need for it. Now that Minato needs to break in without being seen on a hallway security camera it’s inconvenient, but not a setback. Minato slides his backpack from his shoulders, jostling Ryoji, and pulls a dry-erase marker from the small front pouch. He uses it to draw a sigil on the handle of the screen door and leans in, cupping his hand around the symbol, and blows against it as he wills it to _open_. Warmth twice as hot as his breath reflects back against his skin, and this time when Minato tugs at the handle, the screen door slides open easily.

Minato glances over his shoulder and finds Seta staring at him with parted lips. So part of him was still a skeptic after all. _Tadah_ , he thinks smugly, and thumbs away the marker left on the door as he stands, slinging one of the straps of his bag over his free shoulder. He slips into the apartment and finds a very familiar layout: the mirror image of Seta’s place next door—except that the residence has been eviscerated. Whatever furniture and personal belongings once occupied the space have long since been removed by family and administration, but the stench of spilled alcohol remains, clinging to the carpet fibres much like the spirit who lingers within these walls—and just as unwelcome. Seta looks around cautiously with his fingertips pressed into his wrist.

Humans aren’t always aware of the things that they sense. Brain damage to the right part of the visual cortex will render a person unable to perceive what they see, but still able to navigate around obstacles in their path. This phenomenon is called blindsight because their eyes are still taking in visual information while the brain is incapable of processing it on a conscious level. On a far less dramatic scale, sometimes people are highly sensitive to the presence of other humans; unable to be surprised by friends sneaking up on them from behind even if they’ve successfully escaped notice. And, very rarely, that innate awareness will extend to the deceased.

The atmosphere isn’t heavy or electric or even cold, as paranormal shows like to claim. Instead, the air is very still, like dropping a pin might create a shockwave—but that’s the result of being in an empty apartment that belongs to a deceased man, not his afterimage burned into the material plane. Morooka’s presence isn’t a tangible thing; it’s the placebo effect that’s set the hairs on the back of Seta’s neck on end. Physically, Minato doesn’t feel a thing, but he knows that Morooka is there like he knows his own name. He doesn’t even need Ryoji’s piercing stare to know that the man is hovering on the periphery of perception, listening through the door without coming through.

Either nobody taught Morooka that eavesdropping is rude or the combined ‘ _don’t_ ’ of Seta’s spell bag and Minato’s sigil is more potent than he intended. Time to rectify that.

Minato moves into the centre of what used to be the living room and sets his bag on the floor in front of him. Then he reaches into the pocket of his jacket and extracts a hand-rolled cigarette, which he places between his lips.

Seta raises his eyebrows. “I didn’t think you smoked.”

“I don’t. This isn’t for me.” His consonants are muffled around the cigarette and Minato falls silent as he brings his zippo lighter up to the end of it. Once it catches, Minato sucks in a deep drag, ignoring the burn of it in his lungs and throat before he exhales bittersweet smoke into the apartment.

Seta wrinkles his nose as the smell hits him. “What _is_ that?”

“Two parts dandelion and one part tobacco,” Minato tells him as he takes another puff on the cigarette. “It attracts spirits.” _Any second now_ , he thinks.

“Hey, _jackass_ , don’t you know that there’s no smoking in this building?” The voice is loud and grating.

Minato and Seta turn as one to see a middle-aged man with an unfortunate haircut and a horrendous overbite marching down the hall toward them. He keeps coming until he’s standing right in front of Minato, hands on his narrow hips as he hunches over slightly—not as an act of submission, but due to bad posture. He’s dressed in a pinstripe suit with a mismatched, mustard yellow tie.

“And by the way, in case you didn’t notice, this is _my_ apartment!” the man barks. “This is breaking and entering! I oughtta call the police on you miscreants!” He points an accusing finger at Seta. “And _you!_ _Of course_ you’re in on this! I knew you were a rotten little shitbag from the second I saw you! Always playing so nice and innocent in class—I didn’t buy it for a second. First you take my life, now you’ve come to loot my home? Well too bad for you, the place has already been cleared out!”

Minato pulls in on his cigarette and blows the smoke into the man’s face. His features twist as he waves uselessly at it. “Morooka-san, right?” says Minato.

“That’s _sensei_ to you, you shrimpy little shit! Put that damn thing out; it’s a fire hazard!”

Minato shrugs and walks into the kitchen, running the tap to douse the end of his cigarette and rinse the ash down the drain. He squeezes the damp end of it and slips the remains into his pocket. “Tell me about how you died, Morooka-sensei.”

Morooka snorts, crossing his arms. “What are you, a junior detective? Why don’t you ask your friend here? He’ll know more than I would since he’s the one who killed me.”

Minato suddenly feels very tired. “Ryoji.”

Without further prompting, the raven launches himself from Minato’s shoulder and dives at the apparition with a caw, talons raised. At first Morooka shouts with alarm and raises his arms to shield his face instinctively, but as Ryoji passes through him, the late professor suddenly cries out in abject terror, arms flailing. His eyes are wide with genuine fear as Ryoji perches on Seta’s arm, who is now staring at the corvid with renewed anxiety.

“What the hell is that thing?!” Morooka demands.

“You know exactly what he is,” Minato replies. “He should feel familiar.”

Morooka glares darkly. “So now you’re threatening me.”

“You’ll be leaving here either way, but first I want answers.”

“Look, brat, there isn’t much to tell!” He throws his arms up. “I was drinking and then suddenly I was all woozy, like I’d had eight whiskeys instead of three. The rest is a blur. I was walking somewhere with someone else holding me up, then I was on the ground and there was pain in my neck. Next thing I know, I’m back in this shithole.”

“Which bar were you at? Did anyone talk to you before you were drugged?”

“Keiko-Douglas, and _no_ , because the customers there know how to _mind their own damn business!_ ”

Minato narrows his eyes and turns to Seta. The Moon looks distinctly uncomfortable with the way Ryoji has begun preening his bangs.

“Was he like this when he was alive?” Minato asks.

“Yeah, pretty much,” he replies.

“No wonder he was murdered.”

Even Seta winces a little at the comment and Minato bites the tip of his tongue. Perhaps that was a little far. With a sigh, he returns his attention to Morooka. “Tell me more about Keiko-Douglas—bigger venue? Smaller? Were you a regular there?”

“Bigger,” Seta answers on his behalf. “It’s close to the university, so it’s pretty popular… or so I’ve been told.” He flushes a little.

Morooka rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I was a regular. What’s it to you?”

“Was anyone paying especially close attention to you that night? Even if they didn’t say anything to you.”

“There are always gawkers; they’re students! You can’t expect decency out of any one of them!”

“So nothing strange preceded your death?”

“ _No_ , nothing that I could tell. Are you happy now?”

 _Not particularly_. Minato clicks his tongue, picturing a grey beanie scrunched in white-knuckled hands in a room that smells of piss and antiseptic. Hamuko glaring at her feet because if she doesn’t channel her worry into anger, then she’ll cry, and she _hates_ crying. Drugs make everything messy.

“If I speak some rites for you, will you leave peacefully?” says Minato.

“Fine, but promise me you’ll find the bastard who killed me.” There’s an intense look in Morooka’s eyes and his hands curl into fists.

Minato shrugs. “I can’t promise I’ll find them, but I can promise to try.”

“Whatever. Just make sure they don’t get off easy!”

Minato nods solemnly and returns to his bag in the living room, where he retrieves a stick of sandalwood incense and a wooden holder engraved with an ivy pattern. Its surface is gritty with ash as he notches the end of the incense through the hole, and then his zippo lighter makes a reappearance. Within moments, fragrant smoke is curling into the empty apartment. Seta and Ryoji watch silently as Minato begins to speak.

“ _Avalokitesvara Bodhisattva. When practicing deeply, the Prajna Paramita_ _perceives that all five skandhas are empty and is saved from all suffering and distress. Shariputra. Form does not differ from emptiness, emptiness does not differ from form. That which is form is emptiness, that which is emptiness form. The same is true of feelings, perceptions, impulses, consciousness_.”

By the time Minato finishes chanting, “ _Gate, gate, paragate, parasamgate, bodhi svaha_ ,” Morooka is gone. There’s no discernable moment when he disappears; he is simply there one second and gone the next—the way reality shifts in a dream, seamless and impossible to follow. The incense gutters out as the embers eat the last of the flammable material and then the apartment is full of silence.

Seta breaks it with a soft voice. “At the end there… he asked you to find his killer. So he really didn’t think it was me.”

When Minato looks at him he sees that the Moon’s lips are pursed, frowning slightly as he stares down at the carpet where Morooka’s feet stood mere minutes ago. Minato thinks of Seta’s long fingers curled around his mug in Innocent Sin, silver eyes pleading.

“Sometimes ghosts just want attention,” Minato tells him.

Seta hums in acknowledgement and Ryoji gently nudges the side of his head with his beak.

‘ _Pretty_.’

“Thank y—” Seta freezes and Minato’s eyes go wide.

“ _Ryoji_ ,” he snaps. The raven caws with laughter as Minato crams the spent incense back into his bag with the holder and pulls it onto his back. Ryoji flaps over to his shoulder and Seta stares at them both incredulously. _Goddammit._ “Come on; we should go.”

Seta blinks, shaking his head. “Uh, right! Back to the balcony?”

“Back to the balcony.”

Seta makes it back to the screen door in record time with his longer legs and Minato trails after him while chewing the inside of his lip.

‘ _He heard me_ ,’ Ryoji says smugly.

“Yeah,” Minato says, watching silver hair dance in the wind as Seta steps onto the balcony. “He did.”

 

 

Despite living in Tokyo for a number of years now, Minato is not very familiar with the University of Tokyo. Having never been a student there, he has had little reason to be on campus and learn his way around. He tells himself that that’s why he allowed Seta to come along with him and Ryoji: he’s used to the commute and has navigated the buildings on a daily basis for going-on four years.

Seta was adamant about his presence. “It’s because of me that you’re involved,” he said as Minato zipped up his boots at the front door. “I need to see this through to the end.”

And so now they are walking side by side down the streets of Tokyo as Seta points out the buildings where his classes are located. It makes Minato feel like a prospective student being given a tour by a very dispassionate guide, as the Moon offers no more details than, “This is where Morooka-sensei taught,” and, “That’s where my public policy lectures are.” It’s a lovely campus cobbled together with buildings both old and new. Swathes of grass and trees changing colour with the season, like bonfires lining the paths. But there’s little life in Seta’s voice as he speaks. When university students come to Innocent Sin, they tend to talk about their schools in one of two ways: with pride or bitterness. Seta sounds like he doesn’t care at all.

“What are you studying?” Minato asks him.

“Political science,” he says neutrally.

“Do you like it?”

Seta looks mildly surprised at the question, like he wasn’t expecting Minato to be interested, and replies, “It’s fine.”

 _Doubtful_ , Minato thinks. Ryoji cocks his head at Seta, but the Moon has been resolutely ignoring him since they left Morooka’s apartment. Finally, Seta raises his hand to point at a tall building across a fountain plaza.

“That’s the library,” he says.

The architecture is very vertical, with a row of arched pillars running across the front entrance. The face of the building is made up of hexagonal columns morphed into a single structure with tall windows that drip down each plane. Trees and bicycles line the plaza and the central platform of the fountain is surrounded by sculpted shrubs. The centrepiece is carved from obsidian and depicts a pair of angels seated in a chariot of flames.

“The news said that Morooka-san’s body was discovered behind the library,” says Minato.

Seta nods. “Right. We have to access the area from inside; it doesn’t connect to the street.”

Minato hums in thought, eyebrows drawn together.

‘ _Whoever killed Morooka-san had access to the library_ ,’ Ryoji says.

Minato nods. “Yeah…” Was the killer a student after all then? Or perhaps a colleague.

Seta leads Minato around the fountain and up the front steps of the library before they slip inside. Though it’s a Sunday, the library is far from deserted; clusters of students are milling about as they gather their study groups and weigh anchor at the many tables on the study floor as they combat the unforgiving tide of assignments and midterms. They skirt past the front desk and study area as they make their way toward a mostly-abandoned hallway between sections of the building. There, Seta guides Minato to a side door leading out into a plain courtyard.

Even ‘ _courtyard_ ’ is too nice of a term for the bare stretch of pavement in front of them. The asphalt is dotted with gum and crushed cigarette butts, litter strewn about the sides of the building that was likely tossed carelessly from one of many windows. It seems like a shitty place to die.

Ryoji takes off from Minato’s shoulder and flies over to the adjacent wall, where he glides into a graceful landing at its centre. ‘ _This is where it happened_ ,’ he says.

Minato and Seta turn towards him as one and join him at the wall. Even though he knows that all traces of the blood have long since been scrubbed away, Minato can’t help but search the brick and asphalt for rogue stains of red. He wonders if Morooka was lying down or sitting propped against the wall when it happened. With a sigh, Minato removes his backpack and sits down, cross-legged.

Seta frowns at him. “What are you doing?”

“Scrying,” says Minato. From his bag, Minato retrieves a black wooden bowl and a bottle of water, followed by a sandwich bag containing a small amount of sea salt. Minato places the backpack next to him and fills the bowl with water until it’s brimming, then he adds the sea salt, tucking the empty bag back into his pack along with the emptied water bottle.

Ryoji hops onto his shoulder, curling his talons into Minato’s jacket. ‘ _Are you ready, my love?_ ’

Minato scritches Ryoji’s belly. “Yeah,” he says, “I’m ready.”

Minato leans over the bowl and stares into its dark depths, taking deep, controlled breaths. _Show me what happened here_ , he thinks. He breathes and stares and focuses until everything fades away: the sounds of the city and the smell of exhaust mingling with trash, Seta standing next to him and Ryoji’s familiar weight on his shoulder. Down, down, down Minato falls until he sees only blackness, feels only the steady thrumming of his heartbeat. And then, gradually, shapes emerge from the darkness. The door to the courtyard opening and two figures stumbling out of the library, one leaning heavily on the other. The supporting figure is slightly shorter than the first, but more sturdily built—not particularly muscular, but not spindly like Morooka. He brings Morooka over to the wall and helps him sit with his back against the brick. Morooka’s head tips back to look at the man and then at the sky above them, lips moving with incomprehensible murmurs as he sways from side to side. The man standing over him takes a wickedly curved knife from the bag hanging at his hip. The blade is sleek and black—likely obsidian—and the handle is ornate. Ceremonial by nature. The man loosens the scarf around Morooka’s neck, exposing his throat, and in one swift motion, jerks the knife forward.

It happens almost too fast for the eye to catch. The blade pierces the flesh of Morooka’s throat as easily as butter and then, with a practiced movement, the man tilts himself away to avoid the arterial spray as he pulls the knife free. Morooka sucks in a gargling gasp, eyes going wide as blood bubbles into his mouth and pours past his lips to join the torrent gushing from his neck, drenching him in crimson. From a safe distance away, the man watches and traces a shape in the air with the bloodied knife.

“With virgin blood, I present to you the Scholar,” says the man.

His mouth opens to say more and Minato swears he can feel the licking of flames, but before he can hear it, a pair of hands cover his ears and his head is jerked to the side to stare into a pale, feminine face with storm cloud eyes and long, deep blue hair.

‘ _You are treading into dangerous territory, my dear_ ,’ says the woman in a gentle voice.

Minato grabs her wrists and glares back at her. “Stop wearing her face! If you think it will endear you to me, you’re wrong.”

The woman’s tender expression turns sinister as she smirks, eyes blackening and her skin becoming as smooth and white as a mask. Her hair seems to wither as it shortens into a dark tangle, claw-like fingernails now scraping against Minato’s scalp as he’s surrounded by two massive pairs of wings, each as black as ink. The mask of her face is like the moon in a pitch dark sky.  

‘ _Very well_ ,’ she says. ‘ _I thought you might prefer a more familiar visage. Are you taking good care of my son?_ ’

“No one’s holding him prisoner,” Minato says. “If he wanted to leave, he’d be gone.”

The smirk widens and she drags her thumbnail softly down the side of his cheek. ‘ _Ah, but that would violate our agreement, and I am a woman of my word—just as your parents were._ ’

Minato’s grip tightens as his heart begins to race. “Ryoji—!” he cries.

A caw rips through the darkness and distantly, Minato feels pain in his neck and shoulder, but before he’s drawn from the vision entirely, the Mother of Shadows’ voice rings out.

‘ _More blood will be spilled, dear Minato, and not all of it will be virgin. Be sure that yours does not join it. There are forces at work beyond even my domain._ ’

Minato’s consciousness returns to the courtyard like a diver surfacing from the ocean, gasping and disoriented. He wakes to pandemonium. Ryoji’s wings are beating and Seta is cursing as his hands wave about Minato’s face. With a final angry caw, Ryoji lands on the ground next to him and Seta grabs his shoulders, eyes wide with concern.

“Minato-san! _Shit_ ,” he says, “he got you good. I wasn’t expecting him to just attack you. Are you okay?”

Minato blinks, lazily bringing his hand up to his stinging neck. His fingertips are red when he pulls them away. “I’m fine,” he says. “Ryoji saved me.”

Seta frowns, dropping his gaze. Minato follows it to the tipped-over scrying bowl, its contents now soaking into the knee of Seta’s slacks. Ryoji croaks smugly and Seta shoots him a reproachful look before he leans back to dig in his jacket pocket. He pulls out a bandaid and tears it open before gently turning Minato’s head to the side with one hand on his jaw. Minato swallows as he feels Seta place it over the worst of his cuts, smoothing down the edges with his thumbs.

“Do you always just happen to carry bandaids around with you?” Minato asks.

“I have clumsy friends,” Seta explains. Their eyes meet and Minato suddenly becomes very aware of how close their faces are and the sensation of Seta’s fingertips on his neck. Seta blinks and pulls away, cheeks flushing. “Sorry.”

Minato rubs the bandage absently. “Thank you, Seta-san.”

“Um…” He glances at Minato’s neck and chews his lip. “You can just call me Souji. You asked me to use your first name before—it only seems fair.”

Minato nods numbly. “Okay.”

Seta— _Souji_ —takes a deep breath before letting it out through his lips. “So what _did_ happen?” he asks.

“A lot,” says Minato, picturing the knife and the ritualistic nature of the murder. The appearance of Nyx and the warning she brought. Ryoji nudges his hand with his beak apologetically and Minato strokes his head in forgiveness. “I need to talk to my sister.”

“I’m coming with you,” Souji says, and this time Minato doesn’t even try to justify his agreement. They replace the scrying bowl in Minato’s bag and Ryoji takes to Souji’s shoulder this time. Together, they stand.

 

 

Two nights later, Konishi Saki is found dead in a parking lot next to the Shinjuku Batting Center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens!!!! >:))) coming up next: more Hamuko and Aigis!

**Author's Note:**

> It's going to be a long one, probably. Oh boy here we go. I hope you like it!!!


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